Vampires Don't Always Get the Girl
by snitchcharm
Summary: He's still getting over Clary, but Isabelle's on the prowl. His friends wonder why he only drinks red Kool-Aid. A dangerous new vampire hunter emerges, looking for him. And on top of it all, Jace wants driving lessons... Good luck, Simon. Post-CoG.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so Simon wasn't completely over the girl he had loved for ten years. It was October, for God's sake. Only two months had passed since it all began, since the Shadowhunters had sashayed into Clary's life and to his—turning his life upside down, breaking his heart, and significantly altering his eating habits, which was why he was standing in his kitchen right now, pouring red Kool-Aid down the sink. When the plastic bottle was empty, he grabbed a sealed bag of red liquid from the fridge and, tearing it open, poured it into the Kool-Aid bottle. Chicken blood—ugh. On the rare occasion that he had a choice which kind Magnus brought him, he much preferred sheep. Chicken had a weird, corny aftertaste that always left him wanting Listerine. But he couldn't complain; blood was blood.

Try as he might to concentrate on the subtle differences between the tastes of various farm animals, Simon could smell the sugary drink splashing down the drain, and the fake-watermelon scent brought thoughts of Clary. He remembered when he and Clary, both just ten years old, would hole up in his old tree house for hours on end, reading comics and eating Kool-Aid mix right out of the packet. It had been so easy before.

He was getting better at not thinking about her all the time. She was with Jace now, and she was happy. Simon could see that much—she was happier than ever. And he should be happy too, shouldn't he? Wasn't that how you were supposed to feel when people you loved had finally gotten something they wanted?

He tried hard. And he was getting better at smiling at her, even when Jace was around. For the most part, he could deal with the blonde Shadowhunter. Either out of habit or out of respect for Simon, Clary didn't often hold Jace's hand around him. Simon had a hunch that that wasn't the case when the two were alone, but if he didn't dwell on that too much, he could act almost normal

Sometimes Simon caught sight of them when they thought no one was looking, and those moments were the hardest. Jace looked at Clary as if he was constantly trying to memorize her face, like he might never see her again. And the way Clary looked back... Simon felt a knot somewhere in his intestines whenever he saw that. He knew that look. It had been on his own face, he was sure, when he had first seen the sun again.

He didn't complain; Clary was still his on Tuesday afternoons, when they would go to his house to make fun of old movies and eat junk food. It felt just like old times then, like normal. But Wednesday always came. He always drove Clary to the Institute for her new Shadowhunter lessons, and then to Eric's for band practice. They still hadn't decided on a name, although Beastie Rock was Eric's new favorite. They were making progress, too. One perk of the vampire reflexes: Simon was now deemed an "awesomely sick" drummer.


	2. Chapter 2

On Tuesday, October twenty-third, Simon opened his door to find Clary standing there, grinning and holding a small package wrapped in what looked like the newspaper comics. "What's that?"

"Hello to you, too," she laughed. "I brought you a birthday present."

Soon they were safely in Simon's room, out of earshot of Rebecca, who was drawing in the kitchen. Clary plopped down on the bed and shoved the square package into his hands. "Open it."

"Thanks," Simon said, but he didn't tear the wrapping just yet. "But you didn't have to—my birthday's not till tomorrow. And Clary, I'm not... you know... aging anymore." It felt strange to say the words, even though he knew they were true.

Clary laughed, but Simon thought he caught a flash of some other emotion in her green eyes, just for a split second—confusion? Regret? He pretended he hadn't seen. "I'll take the CD, though," he said quickly, making an effort to keep his voice light.

"You know me too well, my friend," said Clary, smiling at him. That smile. Somehow shy and assured and hopeful all at the same time. Simon knew that there would always be some part of him that would never give up on his first love.

"Yeah, and there's also the fact that you've gotten me a CD every year since we were eleven." He slipped a finger under the wrapping and pulled. Sure enough, a square of plastic with an indie-art cover tumbled out, landing on the comforter.

"_Vampire Weekend,_" Simon read aloud. "Appropriate."

"I really like them. It's like Stepping Razor meets Arcade Fire." Clary gave him a too-brief hug. "I hope you like it."

"I love it," he said truthfully. He would love anything she gave him, but she didn't need to know that. Anything to make her smile. "What do you want to do today? 'Star Wars' or 'Pokemon'?"

"Hang on," she told him. "First I wanted to talk to you about something." Her tone made Simon look up, his eyes wide with concern.

"You're using your parental voice," he said, a layer of offhandedness thinly masking the worry in his voice. "What's up?"

"Don't look at me like that; nothing's wrong," she said immediately, which, of course, only made him stare harder at her. "I was only thinking..." Her forehead wrinkled in thought. "You really ought to tell your mom and Rebecca about the whole handicapped thing."

After a moment, Simon let out a burst of relieved laughter. "The whole handicapped thing? Are you referring to the paleness, the immortality, or the bottles of chicken blood currently hidden in the back of the fridge?"

She hit his arm softly. "It's not funny!" she said indignantly. "You're turning seventeen tomorrow. How long do you think you can go before your family starts to wonder what's going on?"

"I figured I'd solve that problem when I came to it." He caught sight of her face and sighed. "Look, Clary, I know I've got to tell them. But what can I say? Rebecca might believe me, I guess. She just finished reading the _Twilight_ books."

Clary made a face.

"But anyway, my mom will think— she's noticed that I'm not eating. I've just barely convinced her that I'm not dying of some rare sun allergy. I don't really want to drop another bomb right now. She has a lot on her plate at the moment."

"She'd believe you if you showed her," Clary said earnestly. "Show her how fast you can run. Show her your temperature. Or your fangs."

Simon raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, maybe not the fangs," she amended. "But she's going to have to know someday, Simon. Just remember that."

"I will," Simon promised. "When it's the right time. But that's not today, and I can spare her the details of my _handicap_ a bit longer." He put his arm around her, and she leaned into his shoulder and sighed. Touching like this was normal, platonic, okay. He couldn't let her go completely, not until he had to.

"I'll take care of it," he whispered into her ear, her flaming hair soft against his cheek. "Don't worry about me."

"Easier said than done," Clary grumbled, her eyes closed.

"So," he said after several minutes of companionable silence, "shall we rejoin Anakin, Luke, and Leia?"

Clary opened her eyes and looked up at him, a slightly wicked smile playing around her lips. "Actually," she replied, "I'm dragging you to the Institute."

"What? Wh-why?"

She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door. "Because the Shadowhunters want to wish you a happy birthday."


	3. Chapter 3

For a long time, longer than he cared to admit even now, Simon had been scared to death of Isabelle Lightwood. She was a force of nature, a tornado that threatened to suck him in and tear him into shreds. With her red lips and black eyes, she reminded him too much of certain girls he had known at St. Xavier's. There was one or two at every school: girls who always had parades of boys queuing up to fall at their feet, but would turn them all away simply for the thrill of breaking hearts. Thankfully, Clary had insulated him from joining the ranks of the rejected. But Simon had seen the aftermath often enough—a guy trailing around after the object of his affections, panting like a lapdog, willing to make a complete and utter fool of himself in exchange for just one second of her evanescent favor. Isabelle, like those girls, set danger bells ringing in his mind. But unlike those girls, Isabelle could also disembowel a poisonous demon with one hand tied behind her back, wearing six-inch heels the entire time.

And for a long time, that was all she was to him—a killing machine (albeit one that looked like a supermodel) totally without a heart, someone to be admired from a distance and certainly to be avoided. Being close to her—even if it was only in a feeble attempt to invoke Clary's envy—was a frightening experience, and shortly afterward he had decided to stay away from her, as he imagined any male with a sense of self-preservation would. But there was more to Isabelle than that.

She had a greater capacity for love than anyone Simon had ever known, maybe greater even than Clary's. It made her a valuable ally and a terrifying enemy. Simon saw it for the first time during the Greater Demon Abbadon's attack in Madam Dorothea's apartment, when she leapt without a moment's hesitation in front of Alec and Jace and even Clary, wielding her gold whip even as the skeleton-thing bore down on her. And afterward, when she cradled her brother's head in the back of Eric's banana van as they sped towards the Institute and the magic that could heal Alec.

Weeks later, after Simon had become a vampire, Clary had told him about the night he died and was buried and dug out of the earth, at the Institute and then the cemetery, when the drug that was vampire venom had obliterated all sight and hearing. The night of the fledgling, as Simon thought about it. She'd spared him most of the gory details. And Simon had been preoccupied enough with his own problems at the time, most notably the inescapable thirst for blood, to spare a thought for Isabelle. But he had heard enough to gather that it was Isabelle who stood between him and Raphael, Isabelle who had pointed a candelabrum at the older vampire's heart as she demanded the truth.

Isabelle, screaming at no one, curled protectively over the still body of her younger brother on the cold floor of the Hall of the Accords. That image would be burned into Simon's mind for as long as he lived, which could very well be forever.

And then... and then the night in Alicante, in the Glass City. Isabelle, grieving, had let Simon into her room then. Not Maryse or Jace or even Alec. Simon.

Isabelle and not Clary was first in his mind during those hours, maybe because Clary had never needed him like Isabelle did then. He had never imagined that such a fractured brokenness could exist behind her carefully maintained face.

But he had seen her with black makeup streaking down her cheeks and he had heard her when she said _why not me? Sebastian should have found me first. I should be dead. That should have been my body burning not Max. Not Max not Max not Max._

Simon had comforted her in the only way he knew how, in the only way that seemed to make her able to feel something besides the pain and grief and anger.

He hadn't lied to Clary. He was still a virgin.

But he was no stranger to Isabelle's lips.

And the fact of that floated between them as he faced her across the hall of the Institute.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Blooper! I forgot that Simon can't go in the Institute =( Just pretend that I said "as he faced her across the front lawn, in the shadow of the Institute." **

Simon's eyes went to Isabelle first, but she wasn't the only one there. As he took in the cluster of people on the lawn, he backtracked furiously, accidentally treading on Clary's feet. "I _hate_ parties," he spluttered, quietly enough so that only she could hear. It was true—ever since that first fateful night at Magnus's, soirees of any kind made him antsy. The last one he had attended had been in Alicante, after Valentine's defeat, and he had only gotten through that on a weird, temporary high, a mix of leftover adrenaline, nervousness at being around Isabelle, and not a few faerie drinks whose effects, mercifully, had not included rodent-izing.

Clary prodded him in the small of his back, none too gently, edging him forward past the iron-clad gate into the yard. "This isn't a party," she told him, an edge of laughter in her voice. "You can't have a party with less than ten people. Counting us, there's only seven."

Simon counted. Isabelle was standing in the doorway of the Institute, leaning against the doorframe, a sly half smile on her face. A flimsy-looking white dress had taken the place of her usual black attire—it made her look younger, somehow, her eyes huge and dark against her fair skin. Simon waved at her, tentatively, before scoping out the others; she dropped a wink in return. Maia Rogers **(is that her last name? I think so, but correct me if I'm wrong) **was beside her, her hair tied with festive bright ribbons. She, too, beamed and waved at Simon. He felt a flush creeping into his cheeks at the sight of both of them, and Isabelle and Maia exchanged a knowing glance.

Jace was pacing randomly over the grass, his hands in his pockets, looking bored as usual. He hadn't bothered to dress up for the occasion, Simon noted. But when the gate creaked, announcing Simon and Clary's arrival, his blonde head went up, and he smiled, mostly at Clary, but he nodded at Simon as well. Simon nodded back in recognition. The last two attendees were Alec and Magnus Bane. They sat close together on one of the old marble benches under an old elm tree, animatedly discussing something in animated voices—as to what, it was too far away to tell, but Alec was leaning forward eagerly, actually laughing. Magnus, as usual, glittered like a disco ball, and even Alec wore a blue sweater that looked clean. All five of them looked up as Clary and Simon entered, and Isabelle ran to meet them.

"Happy birthday!" The next thing Simon knew, Isabelle had thrown her arms around his neck, engulfing him in a vanilla-scented hug.

He returned her embrace a little awkwardly, his arms going automatically around her waist. "It's really good to see you, Isabelle." _Idiot. Say something clever. Something impressive._ But nothing suitable came to mind.

"Isabelle was the mastermind behind this," Clary added, blithely, from behind him. "I'm just the accomplice."

_Oh, joy._ Simon hadn't noticed before, in the throes of deadly stage fright, but someone had decked out the yard in all sorts of PartyAmerica paraphernalia—tethered bunches of yellow balloons to benches in strategic locations, wrapped the trees in crepe-paper streamers, spread a banner reading _17!!!_ over the door. It would have been funny if it wasn't so terrifying.

Somehow he let Isabelle and Clary drag him into the midst of the people, trying to think of something to say. He finally managed a feeble "Wow, everyone, thanks."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "You can take the vampire out of the geek, but you can't take the geek out of the vampire." She took the edge out of these words by patting Simon on the arm.

Clary nodded in absentminded agreement, but Simon could see that her eyes were on Jace. Of course. He cast his eyes downward, at his feet, but closing his eyes seemed a bit extreme, so he could still see in his peripheral vision as the two settled side by side, their hands brushing a little, and he saw Clary's eyes light up and Jace's mouth ease up at the corners, an expression almost of relief.

Alec raised a hand as he and Magnus approached, their pinkies linked. Simon hadn't seen much of either of them since Alicante, and he realized suddenly that Alec looked different. A bit on edge, maybe. There was a hint of defiance in his navy eyes as he looked at Simon, as if he was challenging him to make a comment at the now-public relationship between him and Magnus. But Simon smiled and Alec's expression softened. "What's up?"

"Not much."

"Ah, look, rat-boy is growing up," sighed Magnus, looking down at Simon.

"Hey, Magnus."

"I suppose I must wish you many happy returns, although it's quite unnecessary when you're immortal." Magnus heaved a theatrical sigh, but he was smirking. "I haven't had a birthday party for two hundred sixty-nine years. The music that you youngsters listen to is horrific." In response to Simon's unasked question, which must have shown on his face, he added, "_That_ one was for my cat."

"We'll throw you a party, Magnus! RIGHT, ALEC?" Isabelle looked daggers at her brother. "And you can choose the music, as long as it's not faerie R&B." She emphasized the last bit with a delicate shudder.

Alec mumbled something in the affirmative, and Magnus grinned his Cheshire cat grin. "I'll hold you to that, darling," he said, pulling Alec in for a kiss.

Isabelle seized the momentary distraction as an opportunity to shove an oddly shaped package into his hands. It was long and triangular, about a hand's width wide at the base and narrowing to a taper at the top.

"Wait... what's this?"

"It's for you, idiot," said Isabelle patiently. "From all of us." She waved her hand vaguely around, indicating the gathering in general. "I figured you wouldn't want a cake. But we had to make you a present."

"Okay..." A little apprehensively, Simon stuck his finger beneath the wrapping and tugged. He heard that all six of the Shadowhunters and Downworlders had gone absolutely silent, waiting for him to open the gift. All were holding their breath as a stray ray of sunlight caught something in the wrapping; the gleam was so bright that it hurt his sensitive vampire eyes. He reached a hand inside.

And pulled out a seraph blade.

**And sorry about the short chapters; I have a short attention span, and as some of you know, this is only a side project! Scoot on over to fictionpress to see more. But in the meantime, read and review this! Did I do Magnus right?**


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